


Fuck Me Up/Tear Me Down

by quamquam20



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Force Choking (Star Wars), Groupies, Hair-pulling, Hopeful Ending, Jealousy, Light Angst, Masturbation, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character(s), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Post-coital snacks because Han's son is a gentleman actually, Power Imbalance, Rimming, Rough Sex, Spanking, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25991497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quamquam20/pseuds/quamquam20
Summary: When the Force connects them during one of Rey's encounters with an admirer, she doesn't mind. Kylo can't look away. And he's got a plan to get back at her.Rey watches it all: Kylo turning, ready to launch into the same tired demand that she join him. The delicious way shock plays over his face.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Other(s), Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Other(s)
Comments: 77
Kudos: 330





	Fuck Me Up/Tear Me Down

The first time it becomes clear that people want to fuck a Jedi, Rey is taken aback.  
  
The pilot tells her to let him know if she needs anything. To unwind, he says to her. Get her mind off of the war. _Anything_ , he emphasizes, suggestive and tempting.  
  
She gets used to the comments.  
  
She'd be a conquest to them, maybe, but a legendary one. A fuck they could be proud of. Brag about, if they're the type. When she starts taking some up on their offers—distant strangers, never friends—she lets them talk. It's good for morale, she tells herself, to give them something tangible to chase.  
  
For her, they are a quick respite. Never a home, but temporary camps for her body. She doesn't mind the roaming around, finding pockets of solace and ease. They give her massages, reverently slicking oil over her aching muscles, like touching her is reward enough. They fill her where she sometimes feels a vacancy. One even cooks for her and she goes back for seconds.  
  
She grows to love it when they use their mouths. The reclining indulgence, the way they worship between her thighs. Word must spread about that, too, because soon she can pick and choose from the hungriest. She lays back and listens to them tell her that they're going to take care of her, and lets them bury their faces in it. Often, that's as much as she wants.  
  
It's when a Resistance pilot is lapping expertly while she lounges in a chair, naked except for the band of fabric that covers her breasts, that she hears the reverberation of a Force connection. It's late and she's feeling peaceful, and there's no icy rush of embarrassment. Before Kylo appears, she decides that this man, whose dark brown shoulder-length hair is brushing across her legs, and whose two-day stubble is damp with her, should be allowed to continue. She doesn't even remember his name—Darro, she thinks—but he's having a good time. And so it she.  
  
Rey watches it all: Kylo turning, ready to launch into the same tired demand that she join him. The delicious way shock plays over his face—widened eyes, a slackened jaw; then the averted gaze, a shield of his hand, and the heat rushing up his neck to his cheeks. The flash of misplaced betrayal that he hasn't remotely earned.  
  
Rey lifts her hips, wiggles against the man's mouth and he groans in ecstasy. Because he wanted Jedi pussy for so long after he heard about her and didn't know how good she would taste and he could come just from the way she grips his tongue. Rey knows this because he tells her, breath gusting over her drenched skin. Which means Kylo knows it now, too.  
  
“I didn't—” Kylo starts. Rey cuts him off.  
  
“What does it taste like?” she asks the man. It's coy and she won't tear her eyes away from Kylo.  
  
“It's—fuck—” Darro is jacking off between her legs, running his lips over her while he speaks. “—sweetest pussy I've ever tasted. Can I use my fingers?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Finally, Kylo looks up, just as two wet fingers start nudging into her. His face is different now—shock subsumed by unconcealed jealousy.  
  
Darro is describing how tight she is, and Rey couldn't dream of a better talker right now. He swipes his tongue over her clit and she arches her back, hand tangling in his hair. Kylo snarls, just for a second, before that impassive mask of an expression returns. But he's hard and she can see it, even from a distance, even in the inky material of his pants.  
  
Rey has imagined him doing this to her, his nose in the patch of her hair. But this might be better. He probably doesn't even use his mouth like that, which is a shame, really. She's watching his slick, faltering lips and thinking about them feathering over her.  
  
A brushing touch from Darro starts to trail lower.  
  
“Here too?” he asks, his voice thick with arousal. She wonders if he's heard that her proclivities extend to more than one entrance, or if he's just naturally inclined.  
  
Rey nods. She loves that too—a slippery finger going in, just a little. Sometimes a lot. She hooks her leg over the low arm of the chair to spread herself more. He ducks down to lick her there first with a groan, his tongue sweeping, then teasing, then prodding, fingers still working her above his mouth. Something darker flickers across Kylo's face and for a moment, she thinks he might walk over to her.  
  
Then a finger, a small thrusting that makes her shudder with pleasure. When Darro gives her clit a tentative roll with his thumb, she's gasping. He does it again, the balance of his touch shifting, and she has to squeeze her eyes shut, just for a second. He's going to make her come and he knows it. When she looks over, Kylo's hands are fists at his sides, his chest and shoulders rising with his hard breathing.  
  
Rey writhes as the orgasm builds, letting her head fall back against the chair. Darro's fingers are making wet sounds as he speeds up.  
  
“Look at me, Rey.” It's Kylo's voice. She's already starting to come when their eyes meet, already tensed and moaning when it slams into her. It feels like he's holding her but he's so far away.  
  
Sweating and gasping, she's loose-limbed in the afterglow, grazing her hand absently over Darro's shoulders and back while he plants kisses on her stomach. He pushes her breast band up, and drags his palm over her exposed chest, other hand working his cock.  
  
“Can I come on you?”  
  
Rey nods, and he's getting to his feet when Kylo shakes his head and looks away again. Darro is talking about her perfect tits, how he wants to see them bounce, and Kylo turns and walks out. The connection ends, leaving only a hollow quiet where he had been.  
  
Rey must let it show on her face, because Darro is asking if she's okay.  
  
She smiles up at him, not sure if it fully reaches her eyes, and cups her breasts, pushing them together.  
  
“Yes.”  
  


* * *

  
  
After seeing Rey with a complete stranger between her legs, he's been on a mission.  
  
They're usually wet when they show up. They want to fuck the Supreme Leader. They heard that he'll stretch them out, that he'll throw them around a little if they want. That, if they play their cards right, he'll choke them without using his hands.  
  
The woman is on all fours, splayed on his bed while he takes her from behind. He pretends he can't hear the connection buzzing in the air.  
  
Rey sighs in resignation, and he almost grins because she knows it's only fair. Instead, he's careful to keep his face indifferent, a place where she could see anything. And maybe that's because he's not sure how he feels—vindictive, relieved, hard, wounded, furious. Strong.  
  
And he couldn't have asked for more because the woman he's fucking is going on and on about how thick his cock is and how she'll feel it for days but she wants him to destroy her with it, and it's shit they all say, but Rey's eyebrows lift in surprise. And that makes it better. He brings his palm down on the woman's ass so hard that it echoes, grips her to spread and watch where he's plunging into her. Then to bruise the dense muscle and pull her onto him.  
  
She's squealing, a fake, nasal sound that he can't stand.  
  
He reaches up, grabs her roughly by the hair. Shakes it, her pale strands shining in the low light, freed from the severe, slicked-back First Order regulation bun she showed up in.  
  
“Stop,” he growls. “Take it or don't.”  
  
“Please,” she begs and it's like a sob, real and desperate. “Please don't stop.”  
  
Much better.  
  
She plays with herself, struggling to brace with one arm against his selfish thrusts. Kylo glances over and the look of unimpressed disappointment on Rey is crushing. That is not the point of doing this—it's supposed to make her think about him later, in her dark room.  
  
He knocks the woman's hand out of the way, replacing it with his own. She immediately constricts around him and he groans, fucking her harder, fingers on her clit.  
  
“Right there, right there,” she's gasping. “Choke me.”  
  
His free hand leaves her hip to pinch in the air, focusing on a gentle pressure to start.  
  
She moans at the feeling of invisible fingers.

“More,” she says.  
  
He tightens his grip and she's coming, lurching into his hand to keep it going.  
  
Rey doesn't look away.  
  
Instead, her legs are clamped together and she's rocking against the tension, trying to hide it, and Kylo has to slow his pace so he won't come first. Because if Rey gets herself off to this while he watches and fucks someone he's imagining is her, he's done.  
  
He stops choking the woman, and she's coughing and thanking him. He imagines the tears running from her eyes, and he usually likes that, but he doesn't care right now. Not when Rey is taking a step towards him, whispering even though she doesn't have to.  
  
“I've thought about you doing that to me.”  
  
He falters because, in an instant, he wants to throw everything away and start over. He wants to kiss Rey and bury himself in her. There are so many other, different, ways this could have gone and suddenly, he needs them all instead of this.  
  
The woman must notice that he's fixated on something in the room because she tries to look behind her. He pushes her shoulders into the bed and lifts her hips. Holding her down, he picks up the pace.  
  
“That's going to make me come again,” she says, sounding stunned, cheek mashed against the mattress.  
  
But he can't wait. The grip of her is so tight at this angle and he thinks that after this, to get off, he'll never imagine anything but Rey like this—her flushed face and parted lips while she watches him fall apart at all of his seams.  
  
His eyes sink into Rey's as he starts to come. And she's the anchor, lost herself. He can feel someone else but everything is Rey, and has been since he first saw her. Before that, even. He wants her to know what she does to him. That he's a monstrous tangle of craving, even when he's coming. Because it's not in her and that's where he belongs. Inside of her, making her his. Finally.  
  
When it's over, he pulls out abruptly and gets to his feet, not even a little unsteady. From a nearby cabinet, he takes a folded towel from the stack and tosses it onto the bed. Grabs another for himself.  
  
When he glances back at Rey, her hand is covering her mouth, eyes wide. Something's wrong.  
  
“What did you say?” the woman is asking him as she turns around and climbs off the bed. “When you came.”  
  
He can't breathe. Did he say her name?  
  
“I don't remember.” It's true. He drops the used towel and shoves it distractedly into an out-of-the-way corner with his foot.  
  
“It sounded like—” She stops, bites her lip and smiles. There's a new blush on her cheeks and she looks... flattered.  
  
“I don't remember,” he repeats and lets the weight of his authority creep in, an edge of anger.  
  
Her face falls, suddenly serious. She gives a sharp nod.  
  
“Understood, sir.”  
  
The room reeks of sex—of come and sweat, and he wonders if Rey notices. He wishes he could undo whatever he'd said because it's ruining his chance to relish the fact that she just saw him come in someone else.  
  
The woman is searching for her uniform on the floor, so he bends down to scoop up her crumpled undershirt and hands it to her.  
  
“The refresher's through there.” He points to the narrow white door on the far wall. His voice is gentle. “Help yourself to anything you need. I'll call for food.”  
  
“Thank you.” She smiles again, but this one is distant, and touches his arm before going through the door that whispers shut behind her.  
  
He sits on the edge of the bed, pushing his hair back while he catches his breath, listening to the shower turn on. The button beeps when he pushes it to have food delivered, and then he's left with the overfull silence of waiting.  
  
“So now you know how that feels,” he says to Rey when it's no longer bearable.  
  
“I didn't do it to make you jealous.”  
  
He thinks of the way she teased, asking the guy going down on her how she tasted. The way he felt her orgasm through the bond. He thought this would help, but he can still feel the stomach-sinking realization that she was with someone.  
  
“Yes, you did,” he says. “Or at least that's why you kept going.”  
  
Rey doesn't say anything to that and he takes it as agreement. Then again, he didn't try to end the connection, too mesmerized by seeing her how he'd imagined. To find out how she moved when she came.  
  
“What did I say?” It's so soft that he’s not sure she can even hear him. He can't decide if he wants to know or not.  
  
“It doesn't matter,” Rey replies. “People say all kinds of things in the moment. It doesn't mean anything.” There's so much finality in her words, but he can sense a simmering sadness beneath it. That heart-pinching loneliness of hers, still. He wonders if, draped over chairs or curled up in beds, she's heard the things she's always wanted to, but won't let herself believe.  
  
“Your name?” Speaking is suddenly the most difficult thing he's ever done, and she's keeping her eyes trained on everything but him.  
  
“She didn't recognize it,” Rey says, like that's the reason it's concerning. The open-ended way she says it, the way it trails off like there's more, makes his pulse slam in his throat. There's absolutely more: an unrecognizable, gasped-out name wouldn't have caused hope and tempered excitement to radiate from the woman. Or Rey's open shock. He tries to retrace his orgasm-fragmented thoughts.  
  
He has to ask it fast, before he thinks about it too much.  
  
“Did I say that I love you?”  
  
And Rey stares at him, lets the words hang thickly in the space between them. It makes breathing almost impossible. The only thing worse than being right would be being wrong and inadvertently telling her like this, when there's no excuse at all. When he has only clarity.  
  
Rey sets her jaw, locks everything down, and is again the scrappy survivor she's always been.  
  
“You owe her an apology,” Rey says instead of answering.  
  
He bristles. He doesn't owe her anything. They both got what they wanted: she's dripping with the Supreme Leader's come, and he finally got to catch Rey off-guard, as unintentional as the result has been.  
  
Rather than saying any of that, he shrugs. “Maybe.”  
  
There's a ding at the entrance to his quarters and he lets the droid in. It leaves a full cart and rolls away. The enclosed, cooled bottom rack is packed with ornate desserts, bowls piled with fruit, and sparkling drinks. He doesn't realize how hungry he is until he lifts the cover of a plate on the top shelf, and there's a delicious puff of steam. Spiced, savory. Something incredible and fried that he hopes the woman in the shower won't want so he can have more. He's not picky but he asks for variety, so it's more like the unusual dinners of his childhood than the monotonous slog of Jedi slop. He rarely bothers to find the names of unknown things, preferring to wonder where they're from. He grabs a few of the wide, crispy strips in front of him and dunks them in one of the cups of condiments. Salty and rich, cut by the fresh acidity of the sauce. From Eufornis, if he had to guess.  
  
He holds the plate out to Rey.  
  
“Want some?”  
  
She hesitates, but only for a fraction of a second. Then her arm whips out and she's cramming a handful of the strips into her mouth. It happens so fast that he's left blinking. He should have offered her food instead of his hand, he realizes.  
  
“Do they not feed you?” There's a little bit of real concern in his question. He knows his generals have been focusing on cutting off Resistance supply lines, but if there's trouble getting rations, the war might be over sooner than expected. Defeating starving enemies seems like a hollow victory. Rey's letting her eyes wander over him, lingering, as she chews. It’s oddly natural to be naked in front of her, chewing. He usually eats alone, but they should do this more often.  
  
“Only a few of them,” Rey says with her cheeks full before she gulps it down. He meant the Resistance, but the unexpected insight into her sexual partners' behavior makes him feel somehow wronged on her behalf. Then again, all he has to do is push a button so that's not really the same thing. And of course, there's the grasping part of him that wants to know how many there’ve been but, really, it's irrelevant. Because none of them are him.

“Next time, we should just do this part,” he suggests, and he could swear the corner of her lips starts to lift before she hides it with more chewing.  
  
He watches her sampling each of the sauces, her humming when she likes it and clearing her throat when she gets to the spicy one. He feels some unfurling thing when he looks at her. Not pity. It's more substantial and replenishing than that. Before he can tell her properly, the shower turns off in the other room. Giving him no chance to react, Rey ducks to take an enormous pastry from the lower rack and disappears.  
  
And, standing alone in his room, he huffs out a little laugh. The first in a very, _very_ long time.


End file.
